


Messages

by yeaka



Category: Bee Movie (2007)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8109016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Vanessa comes home to evidence of Barry’s charm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “Love letters” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/149673766130/fic-bingo).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Bee Movie or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Vanessa’s almost always the first to head home; flower orders rarely linger as long as law advice, but she still locks up; it’s easier for her than Barry. When she closes the place, his clients can still filter in through the crack she leaves in the skylight, but she doesn’t want to leave him the hefty key and in charge of dealing with her human-sized door and windows. Sometimes, on lucky days, they finish work at the same time, and she can head home with her boyfriend on her shoulder. But the animal and insect kingdoms seem to have more trouble than she once would’ve guessed, and more often than not, Barry opts to stay and help them.

Getting home for her is a longer affair. She does have exponentially longer legs, but she can’t _fly_ , and their new location is too close to bother with a car. She walks home on her own, always hoping to hear the telltale buzz of a familiar bee rushing up behind her, and arrives at an empty apartment. At least being home first gives her time to prepare dinner, which is now only for one—he needs only a fraction of a teaspoon of whatever she’s having. 

As soon as she’s changed into less pollen-soaked and grass-stained clothes, Vanessa’s into the kitchen. She’s barely got her fingers around the refrigerator’s handle when she spots the post-it note stuck to the freezer portion, scribbled with such tiny writing that it’s beyond human comprehension. Fortunately, she keeps a magnifying glass in every room for just this purpose. Post-it notes are the largest type of paper Barry can comfortably handle, and they almost all serve the same purpose: a love letter.

Her ex never left her love letters. None of them did. But Barry leaves them all the time, whether they’ve actually spent any time apart or he’s just flown in and out at lunch. She fetches the magnifying glass and holds it up with a familiar flurry of proverbial butterflies, wondering, not for the first time, where he ever gets such tiny writing utensils. 

_My Vavorite Blossom,_ it starts, a deliberate misspelling to head with her initials, the way only Barry’s unique style of humour would devise, _hope you’re having a day as lovely as you. When I woke up this morning and heard you singing in the shower, it made my heart bloome, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your nectar-sweet voice since, but hey, I always think of you! You’re the only queen for me. Your disproportionate knight in chitin armor and amore, Barry._

Even if the words weren’t around a font-size of one, Vanessa would still be able to tell a note from Barry any day. The only trouble with it is that she sometimes feels guilty that she doesn’t have his silver-tongue to leave the same sort of notes around for him.

She can, however, make him dinner, and help him out the next time he wants to sue her entire race. She takes the post-it off the fridge when she’s done and heads to the bedroom to add it to the growing collection on her armoire. When they decide to take their perfect relationship to the next level, she figures she’s going to need proof of his love to send to her parents if they’re ever going to visit her again. She figures with one eight-by-eleven scan of a dozen love notes each more personal and endearing than the next, they’ll have to understand.

And if not, he’ll find a way to make her feel better. Their home is sturdy and full of affection.

And hungry stomachs. Hers isn’t small enough to be sustained on the single scone she had for lunch. She heads back to the kitchen, and Barry comes home to a one-inch by one-inch square of pizza that he brightly tells her is better than honey.


End file.
